We like knowing what’s ahead. Even though humans have a history of being extraordinarily adaptable as a species, it’s disconcerting to absorb the jolts of change. Three people I knew died recently; three wakes in five days. One was a young person I’d barely met and knew more through friends; another was near my age, a casual friend, I have tighter relations with several of his siblings; and the third was a young man, 34, in the prime of life with whom I was once very close. We’d come into and brightened each other’s lives for several years during particularly challenging times for us both. I’d mentored him while his joyful spirit uplifted me. Each of those who passed had their own special glow, was much-loved, and had a positive impact on those in their sphere.
“Tell me, what is the measure of a life well done? Tell me, how do you count an uncountable sum?…” my dear poetic friend, Bob Sima asked in a song. Like many of us, at times I’ve pondered if I’m fully applying myself, giving back enough within this short miracle we call living.
Today I wonder, why do we even feel a need to measure? Maybe it has to do with America’s Puritanical roots, which long ago became entrenched as a societal push to be “productive.” Perhaps it’s also spurred by a longing for purpose within a culture that has defined our purpose as being consumers, patriots, or worshippers. Lots of people have pointed out the speed of changes are exponentially accelerating, so it makes sense this further rattles our bearings.
Joseph Campbell said a culture’s mythology is that which defines a people’s place and purpose within the cosmos. So maybe some of my (our?) ache stems from our lack of a defining mythology, and the often incongruous salad of purposes in our own diverse society, as well as our complex our relation to the larger global culture and indeed, the planet.
Convenient technological wonders (like social media) have vastly increased the rate of our exchanges. Regrettably they’ve also replaced direct communal rapport with an abstracted facsimile. Whether it’s global news, local happenings, or personal stories, even as we gain “information” so often by its nature these means leave out the heart of the communication. We now know the “consumer-focus” of these tools are designed to prey upon our instinctive cravings, tapping into our psyches, similar to how corporate products perversely make us crave fast food — unhealthily so, in both realms.
A silver lining of the Frankenstein monster that is Artificial Intelligence may be its increasing realism will force us to more fully recognize the limitations we’ve been overlooking these last 30 years. Because AI so muddies the veracity of reality presented through digital tools, it may spur a lessening of our digital addictions (for some of us at least). Perhaps nudge us to more direct, in-person encounters with all their messy, awkward, beautiful uncertainties. Maybe return us to eye to eye conversations, to accept and offer the gentle touch of supportive hands, to share real hugs where we can feel one another’s hearts. Please.
All these technologies can give us a false sense of connection; one that melts when death arrives. We’re amid what seems to me a transitional point. We’re on the brink of believing we can detach ourselves from the woolly and unpredictable “natural” world. We console ourselves that we can predict whatever is on the horizon. Our many conveniences and robust distractions almost have us convinced we can masterfully manipulate our way through everything. No matter what the natural systems require: from ignoring inherent limits of sustainability to defying we are part of and exist within ecosystems, to shielding ourselves from the inevitable, precious passage we all will make.
No matter the level of our cultural denial, death comes. Or rather, changes continue, since being fully alive is actually to participate in a cycle that is not divided into life and death, but encompasses the constant growth of different life forms. The same dynamics that offer us such bountiful variety and beauty require nurturing and acceptance of the whole process.
Yet words are relatively easy. Letting go of loved ones is a challenge, especially when we have been trained to envision our selves as separated beings. I (we) often feel a searing sense of loss, maybe regrets for not staying more connected. But love is not an abstract concept, it’s a unifying opening. In its most genuine form love reveals our oneness. The heart-shattering crack we feel is a break, but in the falsehood of separation, not in the bonds with one another.
Still, I lean on Grace to guide me through profound circumstances like grief. Hopefully I also remain open to allow it to guide my heart through this daily miracle of being alive. Appreciation and kindness keep the cycle of love flowing. In his song, Bob answers his questions: “When your hands are empty and your heart is full, you can smile on your very last day.” I can live (and die) with that.
.
“Tell me, what is the measure of a life well done? Tell me, how do you count an uncountable sum?…” my dear poetic friend, Bob Sima asked in a song. Like many of us, at times I’ve pondered if I’m fully applying myself, giving back enough within this short miracle we call living.
Today I wonder, why do we even feel a need to measure? Maybe it has to do with America’s Puritanical roots, which long ago became entrenched as a societal push to be “productive.” Perhaps it’s also spurred by a longing for purpose within a culture that has defined our purpose as being consumers, patriots, or worshippers. Lots of people have pointed out the speed of changes are exponentially accelerating, so it makes sense this further rattles our bearings.
Joseph Campbell said a culture’s mythology is that which defines a people’s place and purpose within the cosmos. So maybe some of my (our?) ache stems from our lack of a defining mythology, and the often incongruous salad of purposes in our own diverse society, as well as our complex our relation to the larger global culture and indeed, the planet.
Convenient technological wonders (like social media) have vastly increased the rate of our exchanges. Regrettably they’ve also replaced direct communal rapport with an abstracted facsimile. Whether it’s global news, local happenings, or personal stories, even as we gain “information” so often by its nature these means leave out the heart of the communication. We now know the “consumer-focus” of these tools are designed to prey upon our instinctive cravings, tapping into our psyches, similar to how corporate products perversely make us crave fast food — unhealthily so, in both realms.
A silver lining of the Frankenstein monster that is Artificial Intelligence may be its increasing realism will force us to more fully recognize the limitations we’ve been overlooking these last 30 years. Because AI so muddies the veracity of reality presented through digital tools, it may spur a lessening of our digital addictions (for some of us at least). Perhaps nudge us to more direct, in-person encounters with all their messy, awkward, beautiful uncertainties. Maybe return us to eye to eye conversations, to accept and offer the gentle touch of supportive hands, to share real hugs where we can feel one another’s hearts. Please.
All these technologies can give us a false sense of connection; one that melts when death arrives. We’re amid what seems to me a transitional point. We’re on the brink of believing we can detach ourselves from the woolly and unpredictable “natural” world. We console ourselves that we can predict whatever is on the horizon. Our many conveniences and robust distractions almost have us convinced we can masterfully manipulate our way through everything. No matter what the natural systems require: from ignoring inherent limits of sustainability to defying we are part of and exist within ecosystems, to shielding ourselves from the inevitable, precious passage we all will make.
No matter the level of our cultural denial, death comes. Or rather, changes continue, since being fully alive is actually to participate in a cycle that is not divided into life and death, but encompasses the constant growth of different life forms. The same dynamics that offer us such bountiful variety and beauty require nurturing and acceptance of the whole process.
Yet words are relatively easy. Letting go of loved ones is a challenge, especially when we have been trained to envision our selves as separated beings. I (we) often feel a searing sense of loss, maybe regrets for not staying more connected. But love is not an abstract concept, it’s a unifying opening. In its most genuine form love reveals our oneness. The heart-shattering crack we feel is a break, but in the falsehood of separation, not in the bonds with one another.
Still, I lean on Grace to guide me through profound circumstances like grief. Hopefully I also remain open to allow it to guide my heart through this daily miracle of being alive. Appreciation and kindness keep the cycle of love flowing. In his song, Bob answers his questions: “When your hands are empty and your heart is full, you can smile on your very last day.” I can live (and die) with that.
.
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